


Nightmares Will Always Come Back

by CleanBandAid



Category: Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Hurt No Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, its 4:54 am and im writing fanfic whelp, thomas sanders: am i original
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 06:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10405716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleanBandAid/pseuds/CleanBandAid
Summary: WARNING: this have mentions of depressive thoughts (through out the fic?) and a little bit of suicidal thoughts (end of fic)But nightmares will always come back. And scenes were bound to end. It seemed so fast. Suddenly they all seemed to turn on him.aka exploring anxiety's feelings near the end of "am i original video"





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters and this is only my take on how anxiety could have reacted.
> 
> Kudos and comments will be greatly appreciated.

It was going so well.

Prince screwed up his insults, Logic utterly destroyed Prince in the rap battle, even Morality was behaving, sort of. He was having fun though he will never admit it out loud. Over the course of several videos, he felt more or less natural, content, and dare he say it, accepted.

As Thomas’ only negative side, Anxiety had constantly endured an overwhelming amount of sadness, fear, and worthlessness. He was bashed around, yelled at, and felt nothing but burning hatred from others since his first memory of existence. Yet they didn’t know the one who hated Anxiety the most was himself. He knew the only thing he can ever do right is to cause pain, yet he was incapable to change who he is. He wasn’t impressive like Logic, lovable like Morality, or charming like Prince. He was weak, insignificant, despised. He knew perfectly well that he was an object of imperfection and a burden that even his creator despised. He was something ugly that should be hidden, locked away. It had always felt like drowning under the frozen sea.

It was only weeks ago that Anxiety first caught himself feeling something different, something…hopeful. He caught himself smirking at the silly arguments between the other sides of Thomas, amused by the dad jokes from Morality, and genuinely enjoying the amazing raps from Logic. It was something beautiful that he never expected to be a part of. It was these moments that made him forgot the barbed wires wrapped around his bleeding heart and the heavy lungs that were filled with yesterdays’ tears. He stopped feeling like lost magazines on the dusty sides of the worn-out country road, the webs that were once spun by starving spiders in the abandoned corners, or the lonely broken radio lying in the dirty attic. Just for a second, he stopped feeling like a wound that never heals. He was suddenly aware of how much he longed for this, how much he needed this. He prayed for these silly scenes to last forever.

It was going so well. Not perfect, but better.

But nightmares will always come back. And scenes were bound to end. It seemed so fast. Suddenly they all seemed to turn on him. Logic was no longer on his side, claiming he was no defeatist. Anxiety was stunned to hear the clear mocking but before he can react, Prince mercilessly added another slap across his face.

“Thanks everyone,” He could swear Prince was glaring at him, “well, almost everyone.”

_…What is this? I thought they were friendly? I thought I was doing so well? I thought –_

The realization crashed in like waves upon a chapped cliff, icy cold slicing through his body and burning into his veins.

_They hate me._

It was strange how the old familiar feeling could suddenly become so much deadlier. Anxiety was thrown back into the void of darkness, deep down the ocean where no voice can be heard and no light can be seen.

He was alone all over again. Just like what he always deserved.

The barbered wires cruelly tightened around his heart as he struggled to breathe. He bit his lips and swallowed his whimper. The lights seemed to sway in the room. Voices became distant and echoic, though he was sure it was pointed at him. His vision blurred as he imagined the poisoned words. He longed to escape, to cry, to die. It hurts to live.

_I can’t -_

Desperately fighting against his urge to breakdown, he left the room hoping for someone to see though his mask. But he knew they would never notice his never-ending pain.


End file.
